The Day of the Ron
by hanzitheincredible
Summary: A short story from the warped and insane mind of my brother. honest. Ron is a bit hacked off when Harry gets chosen champion of the Triwizard Tournament and creates carnage in the Great Hall. Not for the squeamish.


**Disclaimer: I DID NOT WRITE THIS! my brother asked me to put this up for him cos he doesnt have a fanfic account. honest! my mind isn't this warped!**

**The Day of the Ron**

(Set in book 4 time after Harry has been chosen as fourth champion)

Neville Longbottom hated lessons. The fact that he was stupid was nothing to do with it, it was the teachers' fault; they shouldn't make lessons so difficult. He trudged up the stairs of the Gryffindor tower wearily, anticipating an empty bedroom where he could slash his wrists in peace, a favourite pastime of his. He pushed open the door, and, to his consternation, found Ron Weasley hunched over his bed examining something and muttering to himself.

"Watcha got there, Ron?" he asked, in as cheerful a tone of voice as he could manage, which ended up sounding like a suicidal lemming. Ron looked up from his musings. "Oh, just some old Muggle thing that my Dad sent up, it's nothing, don't worry." He returned to the object on his bed, and started to talk to himself "So, how does this thing work, then. Hmmmm."

Breakfast the next morning. The Beauxbatons girls were busying themselves trying to find half-peanuts which they could save for lunch and supper for the next week, and the Durmstrang boys were picking fights among themselves, casting spells all over the shop. In short, life was fine. Suddenly, the bedlam known as Hogwarts fell silent. The door of the Great Hall rocked on its hinges with a splintering sound for about thirty seconds, and then, with a crack like the opening of the mouth of hell, it shattered, sending millions of shards of ancient wood flying through the air, which embedded themselves in the eyes and skin of many a young witch and wizard. Framed in the door, a silhouette of doom, was Ron wearing crossed bandoliers and clutching an Uzi. He was chewing on a toothpick and casting furtive glances at the room in general. The room looked back as he spat out the toothpick and spat on the floor. "So I'm always second best am I? I'm just the sidekick am I? Well, y'all gonna take good notice of me now. Chew on this, suckers! Have a load of this!" He ripped up the Uzi and spread a hail of bullets around the room, advancing as he did so. "Eat hot lead!" he screamed, eyes darting wildly, froth forming at the corners of his mouth. "Really, now Mr Weasley, that's enough of that" Professor Flitwick said, trying to calm the situation down, and receiving for his efforts four bullets in the stomach, whilst behind him Professor Vector found out too late that it would have been more prudent to move out of the way instead of trying to calculate the trajectory of the bullet heading towards him. Ron was working his way through the room now, the body count rising in his wake. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the world kicked the bucket spectacularly, a trail of bullets tracing a dotted line across his throat, eventually lifting his head clean off. It landed in front of Neville, who died of a heart attack from shock. A small voice from the other corner of the Hall tried to make itself heard over the rat-tat of the sub-machine gun. "Please, Ron, stop it. Think. Please. It's alright, please." Ron looked up. A Durmstrang boy tried to take advantage of his momentary distraction but was cut short by the unfortunate entry of a bullet into his brainstem. "Hermione. Of all people, you're the one who tells me it's alright. Don't you know how much pain you've caused me, how much hurt and suffering I've endured over you? Don't you realize that I've been in love with you from the first day I saw you? And all you do is throw me away like a rag doll, you put me down, pick on every mistake I make, argue on anything I say. You and that bloody superior I'm-so-famous, look-at-me-I-fought-Voldemort Potter. So no, it's not alright." And with that he turned the gun on himself and let his tortured soul free from the shackles of its frail body.

In the aftermath, whilst Hermione surveyed the damage despondently, Harry Potter tutted to himself. "Who'd have thought it, Albus Dumbledore killed by an insane 14 year old kid. Well, now there's a turn up for the books, eh?" Hermione looked up at him. "Would it be a bigger turn up if Harry Potter, three times defeater of Voldemort, would be strangled by a girl?" And with that, she placed her hands around his throat and throttled him to death.

The End


End file.
